The city which you so boldly walked becomes infested, haunted by ghosts of that ever-living love. It’s no longer yours, no longer a whole – it’s formed by places you spent in those idle waking loving hours, grateful to have and be had.
See, I’ve got a theory, and it’s that we’re all possessed by this need to be special, to be different – to matter so much to the person we choose to be with that we eclipse all that came before and all who will come after.
Fool yourself. A lot. Pretend that his neglect is a side effect of a busy career. Be consoled by his sudden bursts of affection, which you tell yourself just might be the first glimmerings of love. When he compliments you, believe it. Hoard the sweet words like gold dust.